Broken Soldier
by DeathlyCarrots
Summary: Sherlock's one and only friend has always been his roommate, the army doctor John Watson. But when John is diagnosed with Alzheimer's, will Sherlock be there for him? Or will he run and hide from feelings, emotion, and possible heartbreak? What happens when John starts to forget everything? Everything that makes him the one person Sherlock loves? [Minor swearing, Johnlock]
1. Chapter 1 - My Broken Hallelujah

Broken Soldier

Chapter 1: My Broken Hallelujah

By DeathlyCarrots, Beta'd by Vozana666.

* * *

Maybe I've been here before  
I know this room, I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you  
I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.

(***)

Sherlock sat huddled in his sheets late on a Thursday night, his mind turning over and over, ruling out any options of sleep.

He couldn't help but worry about his roommate, who had being displaying some rather worrisome traits as of late. Forgetfulness, irritability, aggression, mood swings, confusion. It had been going on for several months, and Sherlock grew more and more anxious with each passing symptom.

He knew full well what these symptoms meant, but he couldn't bring himself to draw up that conclusion. So he waited and waited, biding his time.

He wondered how long it would be before the major changes started happening.

Sherlock was fine with losing an acquaintance, a friend, a roommate. But to lose John, even the thought was unforgivable.

Sherlock was not a selfish man, but he was using his own fear as a reason to not draw attention to John's attitude.

This fact disgusted him.

So therefore he made the decision to suggest John go for a brain scan. Just to make sure.

Sherlock is almost never wrong, but this time, he prayed to whatever God that would listen to him that he was.

(***)

"Sherlock, this is ridiculous." John stated in his most disdainful tone.

"Humour me." Sherlock snapped as he pushed his friend to the doors of the hospital, exactly one week after he had booked a brain scan for John.

"You're being ridiculous."

Sherlock remained silent.

"Why do you care so much? I'm just a bit grumpy! It's normal!"

"Because I'm your friend, John. And I care."

"Are you?" John asked with genuine curiosity. Sherlock fought hard to remain silent at this obvious sign of impairment of the semantic memory.

"Yes, John. I am your friend."

"Oh." John murmured quietly, lost in thought. Sherlock sighed and paced impatiently in the waiting room, taking deep breaths. He honestly had no idea why the possibility of John dying scared him so much. He'd never been very fearful of death, or what brings death on, but for the first time, he was afraid to be alone.

(***)

As the torturously long minutes ticked over, Sherlock grew worried.

'What's taking this long? A brain scan need only last 5 minutes! It's nearly been 10!'

Just as Sherlock formed that thought, a grumpy looking doctor exited the now open doorway, closely followed by an irritated John. Sherlock nearly fell over in his hurry to greet his friend, but he withdrew into himself, his face becoming the cool, calculating look that it usually occupied. He turned to the doctor.

"Well?" He demanded in a low voice.

"Sir, I think you should probably sit down."

Sherlock swallowed the uncomfortable lump in his throat and turned to John.

"John, go wait by the door."

"What-no! You should hear the things this incompetent man is coming out with, Sherlock. Madness!" John spluttered.

"That's an order, Watson!" Sherlock snapped, and regretted his words almost instantly.

Any reminder of John's days in the army almost always brought a pang of hurt to the soldier's face, and Sherlock felt guilty for pulling that card. John snapped to attention, his eyes blank.

He seemed to begin to defy Sherlock, but he slowly turned to the door and shuffled over there, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. Sherlock sighed and silently hoped that this situation wouldn't bring on nightmarish repercussions. He himself did as he was told, and gracefully lowered himself into the chair.

"It appears that Mr Watson has a disease that goes by the name of Alzheimer's. Do you know of it?" The doctor murmured.

"Yes." Sherlock replied simply, his voice catching at the end.

"Do you realise what will happen to him?"

"Yes."

"If you like, we could keep him here, at the hospital. There is nothing we can do for him, but we would make him as comfortable as possible."

"No. He's coming home with me." Sherlock stood abruptly and made his way over to the scowling John.

"Come along, John. We're going home."

(***)

John tossed his jacket on his chair and fell down wearily on top of it, closing his eyes and sighing. He could sense Sherlock staring at him, and opened his eyes a few millimetres to see his roommate staring at him with shrewd, waiting eyes.

"What?" John asked, shifting uneasily in his seat.

"John, you're dying."

John huffed. "Don't sugar coat it." He said sarcastically.

"It would do you no good."

"I'm not dying, Sherlock. I'm absolutely fine. Just tired."

Sherlock groaned in impatience and pulled scan results from his briefcase. He threw them at John, knowing that the army doctor would not be able to ignore medicinal possibilities.

He waited patiently while John glanced intently at the sheets of plastic, his brow furrowing as he began to understand what he was seeing.

"I...this is my...this is my brain?" It was more of a whispered statement than a question, but Sherlock replied with an equally weak voice.

"Yes."

"I am dying."

"Yes." Sherlock breathed, fighting to remain strong. John's brown eyes were watery and pained as he looked up into the equally troubled blue-grey eyes of his best friend. He gulped, breathing heavily.

"Sherlock...help me."

(***)

Maybe there's a God above  
And all I ever learned from love  
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you  
It's not a cry you can hear at night  
It's not somebody who's seen the light  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah


	2. Chapter 2 - I'm Shattered

Broken Soldier

Chapter 2: I'm Shattered

By DeathlyCarrots, Beta'd by Vozanna666

* * *

And I've lost who I am, and I can't understand.  
Why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love, without, love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on.  
But I know, all I know, is that the end's beginning.  
Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart.

(***)

"Come on, John, I'll try this with you." Sherlock said exasperatedly sitting cross-legged opposite his friend.

It had been a week since they found out about John's Alzheimer's, and Sherlock had been running him through humiliating drills.

Daily.

The only upside was that John got to see Sherlock as a human for once, because the kind, casual Sherlock always slipped out in these sessions.

"Now this I'd like to see."

"Remember, memory exercises are important. If you don't lose your memory, the Alzheimer's will hardly take affect. So we'll start out with little mind tricks. Acrostics. For example, plenty of musicians use little sentences or rhymes to help them remember the notes in the treble. 'Every Good Boy Does Fine'. EGBDF. I don't use this, but that's because I have an almost impossible memory with the capability to remember at least 90% of what I see, along with my mind palace..."

"I may as well get a bloody mind palace!" John said sarcastically.

"Yes, it's probably for the best." Sherlock replied, completely missing the sarcasm. "Where will it be? Bart's?"

John groaned, but played along.

"No, I'd rather it be here. 221B."

"Oh, dull. I'd rather it be Bart's, if I were you, but that does not matter, I suppose. Back to business. What are some of the first things you think you'll forget?"

"This."

Sherlock groaned. "John-"

"No, Sherlock. I'm right, and you're being an idiot. If my memory slowly starts to ebb away, the most recent things will go first. So that means anything you teach me now will be the first to disappear, so there is absolutely no point to these lessons, and there is absolutely no point in you wasting your time here when you must know that I am dying and there is absolutely nothing you can do to help me!'"

Sherlock stared a John for a minute, his eyes semi-wide. John's brief anger had already disappeared, but it was too late. Sherlock's face slipped back into its mask, and John noticed the shift immediately.

"Sherlock-" John began, groaning out an apology for his sudden cruelty, but Sherlock turned abruptly on his heel, hastened out of the room, and shut his bedroom door sharply behind him.

(***)

Days passed, and John did not see Sherlock at all.

Occasionally he could hear Sherlock groan loudly in frustration, or the distinct sound of something thrown at a wall, but other than that, nothing. Sherlock didn't come out for food, or to interact. It worried Mrs Hudson, not to mention John, and as the fifth day rolled by, John had had enough.

He marched to Sherlock's bedroom and wrenched open the door.

"Sherlock! You-" John stopped abruptly, silenced at the sight before him. At least a hundred books littered the floor and the bed, some open, some closed, some obviously tossed at a wall in anger. Empty plates sat piled on the bedside table, and John realised that his roommate had been eating at night. Sherlock himself sat in the middle of it all, staring up at John like a deer caught in headlights. His dark curls had been pushed back, his eyes were red-rimmed and had dark circles under them. All in all, John thought, he looked like shit.

"What the hell, Sherlock?"

"John."

Sherlock's voice was croaky and he took a moment to clear it. "I'm doing...research." John, nonplussed, bent down and picked up a heavily dog-eared book.

"Dealing With Your Disease: All About Alzheimer's?"

"I...I wanted to help..." Sherlock murmured weakly, signs of human emotion and deterioration shining through his mask.

"Oh, Sherlock..." John started towards him, maybe to hold him, or maybe just to sit with him, but they were interrupted by the bedroom door opening.

"Sherlock, that's enough now. You can't hide in here fore-oh. Sorry, John." Mrs Hudson spotted the dirty dishes and went to take them, murmuring something about 'just this once' and 'not your housekeeper', but John stopped her, his eyes cold.

"Who are you?!"

(***)

Let me go and I will run, I will not be silent.  
All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain.  
All is lost, hope remains, and this war's not over.  
There's a light, there's the sun, taking all shattered ones.  
To the place we belong, and his love will conquer all.


	3. Chapter 3 - Dear Agony

Chapter 3: Dear Agony

"Suddenly  
The lights go out  
Let forever  
Drag me down  
I will fight for one last breath  
I will fight until the end"

(***)

"I-what?" Mrs Hudson spluttered, her eyes wide.

"I said," John's voice rose to a shout, "WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY FLAT?!"

Mrs Hudson's eyes began to water, and she shrank back in fear. Sherlock crawled off of his bed to John, placing his large hand on the wary soldier's shoulder.

"John, this is Mrs Hudson. Our..housekeeper. Remember, John?"

John gave Mrs Hudson one more suspicious glance before realisation dawned clearly on his face.

"Oh my, Mrs Hudson, I am, so sorry." John tried reaching out to her, and she automatically shrank back, flinching, leaving his hand hovering awkwardly. She slowly eased back, the fear still in her eyes, mixed with pity.

"It's quite alright, John. How about a cup of tea, to..to get your head clear." Without waiting for an answer, she scurried out of the room. John turned to his flatmate.

"Sherlock, what've I done? You've got to help me! Please!" John's eyes began to water, and his vision became blurry. Sherlock instructed him to stay where he was as he pulled on his gown, pacing out of the room after Mrs Hudson. He found her sobbing lightly, her cries drowned out under the sound of the kettle. Something inside him softened, and he placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, causing her to jump.

"Mrs Hudson, I am so sorry. John, he's...he's not getting better, and..." Sherlock's voice seemed to get fainter and fainter as the tightness in his throat began to choke him, leaving him unable to form words. Mrs Hudson smiled sadly and patted his arm, dabbing at her eyes.

"It's quite alright, dear. I understand. You go calm down poor John, I'm sure he's quite shaken."

"Mrs Hudson, you're a godsend." Sherlock murmured, already turning away.

"Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson called quietly after him.

"Yes?"

"If you ever need someone to talk to, I am here. It's just as hard for the loved ones of the terminal as it is for the sick."

Sherlock knew she said it in a nice way, knew she meant to reassure him, but a terribly awful something put pressure on his chest at her words, leaving him unable to reply. So he simply nodded and turned away.

(***)

"Sherlock!" Sherlock woke to the sound of John calling for him, and he groaned, pulling on his robe as he rushed out of his bedroom, hair a mess and eyes still half-closed.

"John? John!" Sherlock called back, making his way to the bathroom, where he found John standing, dripping wet and embarrassed, next to a running shower.

"Uh, John?"

"Sher..Sherlock, I forgot."

"Forgot? Forgot what?" Sherlock snapped, irritated. John gestured to his clothes, and made a sweeping motion with his arm, pointing to the shower.

"You forgot...how to shower?" Sherlock's voice was strange, alien, his eyes blank. John nodded sheepishly.

"I got in, but it just...it didn't /feel/ right."

After a few moments of silence, Sherlock finally replied.

"Well first of all, you need to be naked to have a shower, you fool." He didn't mean to insult the soldier, but he was frustrated, and couldn't stop.

"Oh." John's cheeks flushed red as Sherlock began to strip him.

"I can't _believe_ you forgot how to _shower_..." Sherlock muttered as he peeled John's dripping clothes off, "showering is the most _basic_...you've got to be kidding me...showering with clothes on? Idiot!" John could only hear snippets of what Sherlock snapped, but it was enough.

"Well, you don't have to _strip_ me! You could've just told me how to, and I would've done fine on my own! Unless this is your perverted way of-"

"John, don't flatter yourself." Sherlock barked at him before shoving him angrily in the shower and storming out.

Upon entering the lounge room, Sherlock pitched himself into his chair, fingertips instantly moving to his temples. He blinked back unwelcome tears, refusing to let himself cry.

'For God's sake, you haven't cried since you were a boy!' He scolded himself.

"You know, Sherlock, I rather believe you're correct." said a familiar voice in the doorway. Without even looking up, Sherlock replied.

"Hello, Mycroft."

(***)

"Dear Agony  
Just let go of me  
Suffer slowly  
Is this the way it's gotta be?  
Don't bury me  
Faceless enemy  
I'm so sorry  
Is this the way it's gotta be?  
Dear Agony

I feel nothing anymore"


	4. Chapter 4 - What Lies Beneath?

Chapter 4: What Lies Beneath?

Here we go  
Does it hurt  
Say goodbye  
to this world  
I will not  
Be undone  
Come to life  
It gets worse

(***)

"What are you doing here?"

"What, can I not visit my younger brother without there being a reason?" Mycroft smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You never have in the past." Sherlock sighed, and Mycroft's false smile faltered.

"Well people can change."

"Not you. You're Mr Government."

"True enough," Mycroft studied his brother from the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the dark shadows and hollow cheeks, "how is John?"

Sherlock's dazzling eyes found his brother, a hard look in them.

"How do you think he is, Mycroft? He's got Alzheimer's!" Sherlock's voice cracked on the last word and his head dropped into his hands.

"You haven't told him how you feel about him." Mycroft made his way over to the chair opposite his brother.

Sherlock smirked darkly.

"There's no point. Anything new he learns now will slip his mind first. He'd forget in a day. He's going to forget me soon. And I think it's going to kill me."

"But Sherl-"

"His Alzheimer's is developing unnaturally quickly. Too quickly. He'll...he'll be dead within the week. His mind will forget how to work, which will start a chain reaction of organ failure. I-I'm scared." Sherlock said absently, his mind drifting.

"Surely something can be done."

"Mycroft, are you not listening to me?! I am scared! For the first time since I was a boy. I am terrified. I don't like this, I don't want this to happen, I want it to stop. Please, Mycroft, make the pain go away."

"I wish I could Sherlock, but-"

"Just...just go."

"You'll make it through this, Sherlock. I know you will."

"Just go, Mycroft. Please."

"My dear brother, I wish you the best of luck." Were Mycroft's parting words as he stood and made for the door.

"Sherlock?" A timid voice sounded from around the corner. Sherlock composed himself before calling out a cold 'yes?'

John shuffled awkwardly around the corner, his bathrobe draped around him.

"Did I hear...hear someone else?" John's words had begun to slur.

"Yes, Mycroft was here."

"Mycroft?"

Sherlock swallowed the uncomfortable lump in his throat.

"My brother."

"Oh. I didn't know you had a b...a brother."

"That reminds me, John. Maybe you should call Harry."

"Harry...that's...that's my sister?"

"Yes, John."

John was silent for a few minutes, deep in thought.

"I don't like...thinking. It feels like my brain has gone fuzzy. Or numb. Or...disappeared? I don't remember it disappearing. I don't want it to."

"It's only going to get worse."

"What is?" John looked puzzled.

"I...nothing. Go...go call your sister."

"Yes. Yes, Harry. I should call Harry." John mumbled as he sidled over to his bedroom.

"I can't do this." Sherlock whispered into the air.

(***)

[Sherlock's POV]

_John. I love you. It's that simple. Why can't I get this right? I should tell him!_

_I can't tell him. I can't do it. I've never expressed emotion to anyone, and in John's current state of mind, it would merely confuse him._

_But what if I don't get another chance? What if...what if he dies today?_

_What am I going to do without him? I never meant to become so dependant upon someone. Even as a child, I believed love as a fantasy, unrealistic, improbable. Impossible, even. I would look at couples walking down the street, see the love in their eyes, and wonder how that could ever happen to someone like me. Wonder if it would. Wonder if I would know when it did happen. Younger me needn't worry. I knew, the second I saw him. I knew the second he forgot his walking stick. The second he saved my life. The second he woke up screaming from his first nightmare in our flat. The second he looked at me. The second he defended me. The second I knew he was dying._

_When I was twelve, I read Romeo and Juliet. I didn't understand why someone would kill themselves for something as simplistic as love. Why would someone give up everything, just because they lost one person. I didn't understand, and if it weren't for John, I still wouldn't._

_I don't think I like being in love. It hurts. It hurts every time he gets a girlfriend, and lately, it hurts every time his Alzheimer's advances._

_I need to tell him. I can't do this. He needs me, right?_

_Wrong._

_I need him._

(***)

"It was...nice talking to you, Harriet. We should...talk again some time. Okay. Bye."

Beep.

John shuffled out of his bedroom, thirsty from talking for at least an hour. He tapped his foot as the kettle boiled.

"Sherlock!" John called out, and it only took four foot taps until Sherlock was right by his side.

"Yes?"

"I want to...let's play a memory game."

"John. There's something I'd like to say first. Something I've wanted to say for a long time."

"What is it?"

"John, I lov-"

"Sherlock, can we please play a game?"

"Why?" Sherlock sighed.

"We haven't been spending much time...together since I got...got...diagnosed."

"That's because I asked Lestrade not to give me any more cases until I give him the OK."

"Let's...let's begin, then." John shuffled over to his chair, completely forgetting the tea. Sherlock followed warily, sinking himself into his own chair with one graceful motion.

"OK, John. What's our landlord's name?"

"Who?

"Our housekeeper."

"Mrs...Mrs Hudson."

"What's my brother's name?"

"Mycroft."

"What's your sister's name?"

"Harriet."

"And your brother's name?"

"Uh...Harry?"

"Wrong. You don't have a brother."

"Oh."

"What's your occupation?"

"C...consulting detective?"

"No, that's my job."

"Doctor!"

"Correct. What's my name?"

John's mouth opened and closed in the same amount of time it took for Sherlock's heart to stop.

"I...I don't remember."

"You don't...remember me?"

"I...I don't know. Should I?"

"Don't do this, John, please."

"I-I'm sorry?"

"I'm not ready for this. Please, you have to remember. I can't..."

"I really don't know who you are, I'm sorry.."

"John. It's me. Sherlock."

"Sh...Sherlock? I don't-"

"John, please!" Sherlock cried out, crawling desperately to his knees in front of his best friend. John flinched back into his chair.

"John, it's me! My name is Sherlock Holmes! I'm the world's only consulting detective! I'm your best friend! You're my only friend!"

"I'm sorry, I don't...know you."

"I LOVE YOU! JOHN, PLEASE! I love you! Just, just remember me!"

"You...what?"

"I love you."

"But...I hardly know you!"

"JOHN WATSON YOU NEED TO REMEMBER ME THIS INSTANT!" Sherlock reached over and shook his army doctor roughly.

"Let GO of me!" John yelled in horror, and Sherlock flinched, but didn't let go.

"John, you idiot! Just...just remember!" John's fist collided viciously with Sherlock's nose. Sherlock cried out in pain as John stood, grabbing his jacket.

"John, don't go. Please. Please just remember me. I need you." Sherlock gulped, pinching his nose to stem the blood flow.

Without another glance at his best friend, John stormed angrily out of the flat. Sherlock couldn't believe it, but John left. Sherlock couldn't stay strong anymore. He couldn't do it.

He broke down.

(***)

All in all  
You're no good  
You don't cry  
Like you should  
I'll be gone  
when you fall  
Your sad life  
Says it all


	5. Chapter 5 - Anthem Of The Angels

Chapter 5: Anthem Of The Angels

Cold light above us  
Hope fills the heart  
And fades away  
Skin white as winter  
As the sky returns to grey

(***)

Sherlock curled in upon himself, his breath coming out as shaky sobs, panic and anguish raking through him, tearing him apart. He didn't know what to do, what to think, what to feel. He just knew that for the first time, he'd put his heart on the line, and it was crushed. He knew it wasn't John's fault. But he couldn't help but be a little angry. How could John forget him? How could John mistreat him? How could John reject him? Sherlock's phone rang as he sobbed, and he hastily pulled it from the table, hope washing through him.

"John?! John, I'm sorry."

"It's Mycroft."

"Oh." Sherlock was suddenly very aware of how wounded and undeniably human he sounded.

"Where is John?"

"I don't know! He...he left! We argued...I did it, Mycroft. I told him."

"And what was his reply?"

"He punched me."

"That...was not the desired reaction."

"Can you be sensible for one minute, please, Mycroft?! I don't know where he is! He's angry and he's confused and he could be anywhere! He could be d-"

"Don't say it. I'm sure he's fine."

"I have to go. I have to find him. I can't leave him like this."

"I'll help you search. Where would he have gone?"

"I don't know! He could be looking for his sister, he could be at Bart's, he could be anywhere he remembers!"

"I'll contact Harriet Watson. You search for him."

Sherlock ended the call, his heart suddenly pounding, his mind fearing the worst. The world around him felt unnaturally cold and lifeless. Pulling himself to his feet, his mind raced, conjuring up thousands of possibilities and ruling out hundreds. Eventually, he was left with three possible places.  
Harriet's house  
Bart's  
His old flat

Choosing at random, Sherlock raced out of the flat, forgetting his coat.

(***)

"John?" Sherlock rapped his knuckles roughly on the door of John's old flat, his heart beating faster than was humanly possible.

"John, are you in there? Open up!" He called loudly through the mail flap. Several people walking down the street glanced and gave Sherlock a wide berth. The consulting detective heard the unmistakable sound of shifting footsteps behind the closed door.

"John, let me in! I'm sorry!" Sherlock's voice became frantic as he began to punch the door.

"John, please!"

"Oi!" Sherlock turned, and a large man in a police uniform came jogging up to him. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Oh, go away!" Sherlock beseeched him.

"Right! That's it!" The policeman, enraged at Sherlock's rudeness, grabbed Sherlock's arms and yanked him from the door.

"Let me go!" Sherlock struggled to free himself from the man's grasp, cursing frantically.

"You think you can just go around beating people's doors down? Think it's funny to insult an officer of the law? You're under arrest!" The officer pulled out a shiny pair of silver handcuffs, his beefy hands shaking.

"John! John, it's me!" Sherlock called once more towards the door as he struggled. A crack of light shone through as the door slowly opened, revealing a terrified old woman.

"Lady, do you know this man?" The police officer asked, yanking Sherlock roughy towards the woman. She slowly shook her head, her mouth open. The police officer grinned smugly.

"You're coming with me."

"No, I'm really not."

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock turned swiftly, bringing his hands up to chin the fat man. With a grunt, the police officer crashed to the ground, wobbling slightly. Sherlock took off at a run, cursing policemen and the inconvenience they pose on the community.

(***)

Sherlock's phone vibrated lightly as he hailed a taxi.

"Yes?" He answered.

"I got in touch with Harriet Watson. She hasn't heard from John. Any luck?" Mycroft's usually cool voice came across as slightly worried.

"No. I'm heading to Bart's now. He's not at his old flat."

"Good lu-" Mycroft was cut off when Sherlock abruptly ended the call.

"Come on, John. Please be safe." Sherlock murmured to himself, earning a curious glance in the mirror from the driver, which Sherlock pointedly ignored.

(***)

"We're here." The taxi driver grunted, flicking on the windshield wipers against the sudden rain. Sherlock tossed a handful of notes at the driver, muttering for him to keep the change as he climbed out of the small car.

Standing in front of the looming building, Sherlock's throat suddenly clenched up, a horrible feeling pressing upon him, turning the twilight sky dark. He wondered what it would be like to fall from the roof. He wondered if there was anything that could ever drive him to that point. And he knew there was only one thing; John's death. He silently berated himself for being premature in his worries, defiantly trudging through the rain to the front doors.

His footfalls echoed emptily in the silent building, creating an eerie aura around the situation. He walked slowly, the horrified feeling inside him being too strong for him to hurry. Everything about the silent hallway seemed to glare at Sherlock menacingly, as though taunting him, berating him. Each step seemed to get heavier as he got closer to the door of his experiment room. He felt as though he were trudging through knee-deep snow, the bitter cold chilling him to his spine. As his pale hand reached out to push open the door, the sinking feeling in his stomach got worse by sevenfold. His brain preparing him for the absolute worst, he leant into the door with his eyes closed, unwilling to see whatever was beyond.

(***)

"John." Sherlock's eyes pricked as he ran to his best friend, lying upon the cold floor. Sherlock dropped to his knees beside him, his hands shaking the army doctor's shoulders lightly.

"No, John, no. Please wake up, John, please." Sherlock's fingers pressed against John's throat, his featherlight touch feeling for a pulse.

"No...don't so this, John, please." His finger left his friend's throat and made their way to his wrist, searching in vain.

"Oh, god, no.." Sherlock looked around him, his world crashing in slow motion. He lifted John up into his arms, crying loudly as he held the army doctor to his chest, burying his face in the man's jacket.

"John, I love you. Don't leave me. Please...please come back..." Sherlock felt something brush against his face and he lifted his head, sniffing. A folded piece of paper fell to the floor and Sherlock reached for it, his hands shaking uncontrollably with grief.

"_I remember you._

_-JW_"

[Sherlock's POV]

I never understood the phrase 'I feel empty'. I'd say I feel empty now, but _I don't. For how can one be empty, if everything is pain? The pain of losing your best friend is not an empty feeling. Sure, you feel as though a part of your soul has been torn away, but it hurts, it doesn't leave you empty. It just hurts. And right now, right at this second, everything hurts. I can't decipher what's reality and what's not. I can't understand if there is such a thing as being painless. Pain is all I have. Hurt, as though wounded. As though my heart and my soul have giant, gaping holes that have been ripped open to leave nothing but pain. As though my existence is a wound that can't be stitched back up or kissed better. Nothing can fix me, I'm a vase that's been shattered into millions of tiny pieces. I'm a photograph that's faded into nothing. And when people look at the photograph, they don't just see nothing. They see pain, they see lost memories. They see me, and I don't want them to. I want to be nothing, nonexistent. I can't go back there. I can't go anywhere. I cannot leave him. He is a part of me. His existence is crucial in my sanity. To lose a part of your soul, to be maimed in the worst way, it's an irreversible torture. One that lasts forever. If brave army doctor John Hamish Watson no longer roams the Earth, then the Earth has lost it's spark, it's beauty, it's life. And so have I. I can make it end. I can rid myself of this pain. And now, I think I will._

_I will join my Army Doctor._

_Reunite with my Broken Soldier._

(***)

There is nothing left of you  
I can see it in your eyes  
Sing the anthem of the angels  
And say the last goodbye  
I keep holding onto you  
But I can't bring you back to life  
Sing the anthem of the angels  
And say the last goodbye


End file.
